


The Dragon Hunt

by LindaO



Series: The Sea Change Stories [2]
Category: Covington Cross
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-14
Updated: 2015-06-14
Packaged: 2018-04-04 10:41:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4134444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LindaO/pseuds/LindaO
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A report of a dragon stealing livestock in one of his villages gives Thomas Grey an excuse to send his all his children on a quest, while he remains home to spend quality time with his lady love. Meanwhile Armus frets over the lack of messages from his own lady, and his siblings just want to have an adventure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dragon Hunt

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Note: This story is a sequel to “Sea Change”. If you haven’t read it, here’s everything you need to know: At a harvest festival, Armus met, fell in love with, and became betrothed to, Lady Margaret (Meg) Devlin, the daughter of his father’s oldest friend, Harold Devlin of White Cliff. However, Meg’s father insisted that the marriage could only be performed by Meg’s uncle, a bishop, who was in Rome. Therefore, the marriage was put off until Easter. 
> 
> Disclaimer: The following is a work of fan fiction, and is not intended to infringe on the copyrights held by ABC Television, Gil Grant Productions, or any other holder of Covington Cross copyrights. No profit is being made from this story.

Pete trudged contentedly through the field. Although it was midwinter, the weather had held mild. His breath curled into a gentle mist as it left his mouth, but the chill did not reach beneath his coat. Once the sun crowned over the hill, the cool would leave. He’d had a good drunk the night before and a good sleep; this morning his daughter had, as always, made him a hot and hearty breakfast. Lydia was a far better cook than her mother had ever been, and Pete did not count his widower status as any handicap. Now he trudged over the wet grass, laid flat by an earlier hard frost, on his way to check his sheep.

He heard the bell on the wether as he crested the hill. Likely the flock had spent the night at the edge of the trees, out of the wind. Yes, there, their dirty white coats bright amid the bare brown trunks. When the sun rose higher, they would move out to the hillside and find what grass they could. But they seemed agitated today, bleating and stomping more than usual. And what was red there?

Cursing, Pete trotted down the far side of the hill. The red thing was mingled with white. The farmer stopped, breathless, and looked down at the dead sheep. It was a wether, a neutered male, at least not one of his ewes. Its head lolled to one side, its blackened tongue sticking out between its little teeth. Its throat had been slashed. One foreleg had been torn off at the shoulder and lay in the grass ten feet away. The sheep had been torn open from shoulder to flank, and its blood coated its wool. It reeked of sheep shit and copper.

Pete turned away. The other sheep were too stupid to run far; they moved nervously among the trees. And there seemed to be too few of them — the farmer counted quickly. Counted again, using his fingers this time. Definitely too few sheep. And what in all the hells had killed this one, then taken none of its flesh?

Half angry, half frightened, Pete turned back to the hill. He took three long strides, then stumbled and fell sprawling on the grass. The dew soaked his clothes, and now he felt the chill of the morning. Cursing more loudly, loud enough to shy the sheep, he stood up and glared about for the cause of his spill.

And with slow horror, he realized what it was.

He had fallen into, and was now standing in the center of, an impossibly large footprint.

***

Armus Grey glanced out the window as he went down the stairs. Then he stopped and peered intently. The window overlooked the courtyard, and across it he could see the open gate and the field beyond. The rain had been falling all day, and now at dusk came down in sleeting sheets. He almost thought he’d imagined he’d seen something. But -- no. There really was something out there. Coming toward Covington Cross — a man on a horse.

Finally, he breathed in relief. He trotted down the rest of the stairs, grabbed his cloak, and went out into the courtyard to wait.

The rider was in no hurry. In fact, the horse seemed to be plodding up to the gate. The closer it got, the worse it looked. Not one of the fine mounts from White Cliff, but a broken-down old nag, thudding along under protest . . .

Armus’ eyes narrowed as the rider grew closer. This was no courier after all. Not on that horse. He didn’t even have a proper saddle, just a blanket secured with a strap. And the rider himself --- Armus approached the horse as it meandered into the courtyard, grabbed its bridle, and looked up at the boy. And he was just a boy, a peasant boy, cold, soaked to the skin, and miserable. “Have you come from White Cliff?” he demanded.

The boy looked confused. “From where, sir?”

Armus sighed heavily. Damn it, where was Meg? But the boy was, for the moment, a more pressing matter. “What’s your name?”

“Tom, sir.”

“Where are you from, Tom?“

The boy turned and pointed, roughly north. “Ducton. I have a letter for the Lord.” He reached under his soaked coat and brought out a letter, carefully wrapped in leather. He peered at the tall man more closely. “Are you Sir Thomas?”

Armus shook his head, taking the letter. “No, but I’ll see that he gets this.”

“The priest wrote it for us. But he’s old. He couldn’t ride here.”

“Come down from there,” Armus said. The boy did so, gracefully, his tattered boots splatting into the mud of the courtyard. “You must be frozen to the bone.”

The boy shrugged. He came barely to Armus’ elbow. “It’s not so bad. I can ride pretty good. I’m near to fourteen, you know.”

Armus looked him up and down. “Nearer to twelve, I’ll wager,” he said under his breath. He gestured, and one of the grooms came sprinting through the rain to take the horse. “Come inside, I’ll get you some dinner.”

He led the boy into the kitchen. Marta, who had been a cook at the keep for as long as Armus could remember, looked at him curiously. “This lad’s come all the way from Ducton, wherever that may be,” Armus told her. “Can you find him something to eat, and some dry clothes?”

“Of course,” Marta agreed at once. “And maybe a bath as well.”

“Oh, no, ma’am,” the boy protested quickly. “Ma don’t allow us to bath in the winter. Says we’ll catch our death of cold.”

“You, hmm, bathe in the lake, at home?” Armus asked carefully.

“Yes, sir, where else?”

“We do things differently here,” Marta told him. “Never mind, sir, I’ll look after him, and find him a warm bed to sleep in.”

“Oh, no, ma’am,” Tom said again. “Ma says I’m to go straight home.”

Armus and Marta exchanged a look. “You’ll stay the night,” Armus said firmly, but kindly. “Your ma wouldn’t thank us for sending you back out on a night like this. And your horse needs the rest.”

The boy considered. “Well . . . “

“Stay,” Armus repeated. “Eat, rest, get warm. You can go home in the morning.”

The boy still looked doubtful. “We have apple cobbler,” Marta added. The boy quickly grinned his agreement. The cook turned to Armus. “They’ve already gone in to dinner, sir. You’d best be quick, or the boys won’t leave you a bite.”

Armus nodded grimly, looking at the letter in his hand. “I’ll go. But I’m not very hungry, anyhow.”

Marta watched him go, frowning. In all the years she’d known Armus, she’d never known him to lack for appetite. Ah, well. Love would do that to a man. She shrugged, then gathered the little peasant boy under her motherly wings.

***

“You’re late,” Thomas observed as his eldest sat down next to him.

“Sorry, Father,” Armus said. He reached across to the platter and stabbed one of the last pieces of roast. “I was greeting a young courier . . . of a sort.”

“From Meg?” Eleanor asked brightly.

“About time,” Richard joined in. “You’ve been a grouch for weeks.”

“What does she say?” Cedric asked. “Or can’t you share that with us?” His eyes twinkled with mischief.

Armus ignored all of them. “It’s not from Meg. It’s from a priest in a place called Ducton.”

“Ducton?” Thomas answered, frowning. “I don’t . . . oh, I remember. It’s a little village just past Quill Lake.”

“In hill country?” Richard asked with interest. “I didn’t know we even had holdings there.”

His father nodded. “A part of your mother’s dowry, actually. There’s nothing much there. Good hunting, I suppose. Pretty country. But nothing that’s ever required much attention.”

Armus thumped the damp, leather-wrapped message onto the table. “Evidently they require attention now,” he observed.

Thomas eyed the packet disdainfully. He continued his dinner.

“I can’t believe Meg didn’t write yet,” Eleanor said bluntly. “Do you think there’s something wrong with her?”

“I don’t know,” Armus answered tersely.

“Maybe she’s sick,” Cedric offered.

“But they’d have sent word, wouldn’t they?” Eleanor argued.

Unable to contain his curiosity, Thomas opened the leather wrapping and gingerly unfolded the message.

“It’s the middle of winter,” Cedric continued. “Maybe they’re snowbound or something.”

“It doesn’t snow on the coast,” Richard countered, “and we’ve had very little snow here. Although, with all this rain, maybe a bridge has washed out.”

“Maybe,” his sister conceded. “Maybe she’s just busy.”

“Too busy for love letters?” Richard asked cynically.

Armus sighed, left his supper untouched, and stood up.

His movement startled Thomas out of his intent reading. “Where are you going?”

“To bed,” Armus answered.

“You haven’t eaten.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Make a note of this date,” Cedric snickered.

“Shut up!” Eleanor answered, smacking his arm.

Thomas studied his son for a moment. “Armus . . . what is it?” He had been, as was his habit, ignoring his children’s banter.

“It’s Meg, Father. I have not heard from her for nearly three weeks. Something’s wrong.”

His father waved dismissively. “It could be anything, Armus. I’m sure there’s no need to worry. Sit down. I have something to take your mind off your lady.”

“An arrow through the heart?” his son suggested.

“Ducton requires our assistance. It seems that they have been besieged by a dragon.”

“A what?” Richard demanded, grinning.

“There’s no such thing as a dragon,” Armus protested.

“Can I see?” Eleanor asked eagerly. She reached across the table and took the letter from her father’s hands.

Thomas shrugged. He was as amused and incredulous as his children. “The farmers say it’s been stealing their livestock.”

“That’s bandits,” Cedric supplied quickly, “not dragons.”

“No, some of the animals have been found, savaged,” Eleanor added, looking up from the letter. “And they’ve found footprints.”

“Footprints?” Richard demanded, more incredulous than before. “Has their ale gone bad?”

“The priest says he’s seen them himself,” Eleanor continued.

“And he begs for my help, as his Lord Protector,” Thomas added.

“Are you going?” Cedric asked with a grin.

“I think not,” Thomas answered dryly. “Dragon hunting is a game for the young. And I am fortunately blessed with sons.”

Armus groaned.

“I’ll go,” Richard offered quickly.

“There won’t be any pretty girls there,” Armus offered.

“How do you know?” his brother shot back.

“This is not a quest for tavern wenches,” Thomas said firmly.

Richard shrugged. “Father, I have been inside this castle for weeks now, with nothing better to do than listen to him moan about his lady’s lack of letters. I will gladly go chase dragons — or wild geese — through the hill country.”

“Me, too,” Cedric added quickly.

“I want to go,” Eleanor added.

“I think just Armus and Richard,” Thomas answered.

“I don’t want to go,” Armus protested. “Let them go.”

“You are my heir,” Thomas answered firmly. “You have to go, just so that they know you. So that they know they can rely on you when they’re in trouble. It’s your duty.”

“Father . . . “ Armus pleaded wearily.

“You’re going, Armus. Whether or not you take these two is entirely up to you.”

“We’ll make better time without them,” Richard said quickly.

“Oh, like I’ve ever slowed you down,” Eleanor jibed in return. “You know I ride as well as you do, maybe better.”

“I’m not staying here,” Cedric waded in. “I’m bored out of my mind.”

Armus was staring glumly at his abandoned dinner.

“Please, Armus?” Eleanor asked quietly.

Her brother glanced up at her. “Fine,” he answered with a resigned shrug. “Whatever. We’ll all go, I don’t care.” He stood up again. “We’ll leave at first light.” Without another word, he walked out.

Thomas watched him go, then stood and went after him, ignoring the excited chatter of his younger children behind him.

***

“Armus?”

“Father, I want to go to White Cliff.”

“Armus . . . “

“Something’s wrong, Father. She would never have gone this long without sending word. I know her, Father. Something’s wrong.”

Thomas sighed. “Armus, you know how messages are. They get lost, they get delayed . . . it could be anything. Why are you so sure she would have written by now?”

“Because she always does,” Armus answered. He stood up and paced the length of his bedchamber. “Ever since the harvest festival, ever since I left her, I send her a message every Monday morning. It takes two days to get there, so she has it Tuesday night. On Wednesday, or Thursday morning at the latest, she sends a message back — and I have it by Friday night. But it has been two weeks — three, come Friday — since I had word from her. Something’s wrong, Father.”

Thomas considered. “You write every week?”

“Yes.”

“That is . . . remarkable.”

Armus sighed. “I love her. We’re apart. What else can we do?”

“I suppose. I just . . . your mother and I were never apart. It never occurred to me . . . all right. I am not entirely unreasonable. Go to Ducton, find this dragon or bandit or whatever’s causing the trouble. If there’s no word by the time you get back, we’ll . . . figure out something. And if need be . . . you can go to White Cliff.”

“Thank you, Father,” Armus said warmly.

“But Ducton first.”

“Yes, Father.”

“Armus . . . try not to worry. I’m sure everything’s fine. She’s busy, or a bridge is out, or . . . it could be anything, son.”

“I know, Father.”

Feeling that he had been no help at all, Thomas left.   
  
***

Marta delivered young Tom to the courtyard at dawn, as instructed. The boy was wearing clean, if old, clothes, and had been scrubbed pink by the kitchen girls. He’d eaten so much breakfast that his little tummy bulged over his belt.

The boy stared around him in delighted amazement. Watching him, Armus had to smile himself. For a peasant boy, he supposed, all four of the younger Greys, dressed for travel and heavily armed, probably presented an impressive sight. The boy seemed especially fascinated with Eleanor.

“Good morning, Tom,” Armus said. “Did you sleep well?”

“I, uh . . . “ the boy answered, startled. “Yes, sir, thank you.”

“Good. We’ve got a long ride ahead of us.”

“All . . . all of us, sir? I mean, you’re all coming to Ducton Village?”

“All of us,” Richard answered, swinging up onto his horse. “That’s all right with you, isn’t it?”

“I . . . I . . . “

“That’s Richard,” Armus told him. He pointed. “That’s Cedric. That’s Eleanor.”

“I . . . I . . . “

“You’re staring,” Richard said gently.

“I . . . never saw a woman . . . in . . . in . . . “

The brothers turned toward their sister. Eleanor had her auburn hair back in a simple braid, and was dressed as they were, shirt and breeches and coat . . . it was, they both realized, the breeches that were throwing the boy.

“We do things a little differently here,” Armus answered quietly. He gestured for the boy to follow him to a small black horse. “This is Cinder. He’s very gentle.”

“But . . . but . . . my horse . . . “

“We’ll bring him on a lead,” Armus answered. He glanced at Richard again. They’d been to the barn early, and looked at the boy’s horse. They’d concluded that odds were at least even it would drop dead somewhere along the road. “We’ll make better time this way.”

“Oh.” Agreeably, the boy let him hoist him into the saddle. He wiggled a bit, getting settled; he’d never been in a real saddle before.

Armus paused long enough for one last look down the road to the east. There was, of course, no approaching courier. Sighing, he mounted his own horse and they were off on their quest.

***

Once they had settled into a decent pace, Eleanor dropped back to ride beside the peasant boy. “Tom, right?”

“Yes, ma’am.” The boy stared down the road, trying not to stare at her. “I was named for Sir Thomas.”

“I’ll have to tell him that. He’ll be pleased.”

“Do you think so?”

“I’m sure of it. Tell me, Tom, have you seen this dragon?”

“Sure, I . . . “ the boy hesitated, glanced sidelong at her. “No. Not really seen it. But I heard it, one night. This great loud screeching noise, I heard.”

The Grey brothers were riding closer, to be in on this conversation. “Screech owl,” Richard suggested.

“No, sir. I mean, sir, I know what an owl sounds like. This was more like . . . well, like a woman screaming.”

“You’ve seen the footprints?” Cedric asked.

“Yes, sir, I’ve seen it. Just one. It’s about this big across . . . “ he dropped his reins and held his hands as far apart as he could. Cinder walked on, unperturbed by his rider’s actions. “. . . and deep, up to my knees.”

“And what about the animals it kills?” Richard asked. “Have you seen them?”

“The sheep I saw, Pete’s sheep. It was a mess. They couldn’t even save the meat. But mostly the dragon just carries them off.”

“Whole?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Bandits,” Cedric said with certainty.

“No, sir. We don’t have bandits.”

“You do now.”

“No, sir, I don’t think so. It’s the dragon.”

“Are there caves or something in the area?” Eleanor asked. “Somewhere that the dragon could live?”

“Oh, sure. Caves everywhere, up in the hills.”

“Bandits,” Cedric repeated stubbornly.

“We’ll know better when we get there,” Richard replied, before Tom could argue.

The boy glanced over his shoulder. Armus was a good ten paces behind them, silent. “Is he angry with me?” he asked quietly.

“Armus?” Richard answered. “No, he’s not angry with you. He’s just brooding.”

“His lover quit writing to him,” Cedric supplied.

“His betrothed,” Eleanor corrected quickly. “And she didn’t quit writing. There’s just been some delay of some kind.”

Richard gazed at her with interest. “You are quite Lady Margaret’s champion, aren’t you?”

Eleanor shrugged. “I like her.”

“You’re not going to be all bent out of shape when she’s the lady of the castle?” her brother teased.

“Are you kidding?” Eleanor replied. “She’s my salvation. She can go to the lute recitals.”

Richard nodded. “Maybe. Of course, it could go the other way. Once we have a conventional female in the family, Father may expect you to behave more like her.”

“No, he won’t.”

“Yes, he will,” Cedric said. “He’ll be saying, Meg doesn’t where breeches, why can’t Eleanor wear skirts all the time like Meg does?”

Eleanor made a face at him. “Well, then we’ll just have to get Meg some breeches, won’t we?”

“She won’t wear them,” Richard answered.

“Bet me.”

“Five pounds.”

“Time limit,” Cedric suggested.

“Six months after the wedding,” Eleanor said.

“Done,” Richard agreed.

They rode for a bit in silence. Finally, Eleanor admitted, “Besides, I’d rather have Meg in the house than Lady Elizabeth.”

Her brothers laughed at loud. Tom, in the middle, just looked confused.

***

The Lord of Covington Cross met her in the courtyard. “Lady Elizabeth,” he said brightly, “what a pleasant surprise.”

She smiled politely as Thomas helped her down from her mount. “Well, the weather holds so mild, I thought I would take a ride this afternoon and visit with you a bit.”

The groom came and took the reins from Sir Thomas’ hand. “I’m glad,” he said sincerely. “Come inside, we’ll have a . . . visit.”

Elizabeth tucked her hand through his arm and they went inside. Thomas escorted her to his private study, closed the door behind them, and locked it. Without another word, he took his visitor in his arms and kissed her deeply.

Lady Elizabeth was not displeased by the kiss, but she was concerned. “What of your children, Thomas?” she asked quietly.

“Gone,” Thomas answered with relish.

“What, all of them?”

He kissed her again, his arms firm around her, pressing her body against the length of his. “All of them. They’ve gone dragon hunting.”

“Dragon . . . “ Elizabeth laughed out loud. “Then they’ll be back within the hour.”

“No. They’ll be gone for days.” His fingers were at the laces of her bodice now.

“Thomas.” Her hands closed over his, momentarily stopping his progress. She gazed into his eyes, lit with passion that matched her own. “Days?” she asked with wonder.

“Days,” Thomas promised. He smiled, crookedly. “I am being too forward, aren’t I?”

“Well,” Elizabeth answered, a bit archly, “for your study, you are being very forward. Now, if we were in your quarters upstairs . . . “

His lips claimed hers again before she could finish the thought.

***

The Greys arrived at Ducton Village with the early winter dusk. A small crowd of children gathered at the top of the last hill to watch them with respectful awe.

Cedric chuckled. “You’re going to be famous forever, Tom.”

The boy grinned shyly and looked down at his fine -- in his eyes -- mount.

“Where do you live?” Armus asked. The boy pointed to a small grass and stone hut, identical to every other hut in the village. A small, dark woman waited in the doorway, wiping her hands on her apron, looking nervous as they approached.

“I’m home, Ma,” Tom announced happily, leaping off the horse.

“So I see.” She swept him into her arms and hugged him very tightly. He hugged her back, briefly, and then remembered that every child in the village — and four nobles — were watching, and wriggled away. The mother managed to keep a hand on his shoulder while she dropped a rough curtsey. “You’re the Greys, then?”

“We are,” Richard answered. “Come to slay your dragon.”

The woman scowled. “No such thing as dragons.”

“Is, too, Ma,” Tom argued.

She cuffed him lightly.

“Whatever is causing the trouble,” Armus answered quietly, “we’ve come to put it right.”

“Well,” the woman replied, stiffly. “We appreciate that.” She glanced over her shoulder at her tiny home. “Would you . . . that is, can I offer . . . “

Armus shook his head. “I’d like to speak to the priest, if you could tell me where to find him.”

“I can show you,” Tom offered quickly. “I got to take his horse back, anyhow.”

“You come right back, hear?” his mother snapped after him as he clambered back into Cinder’s saddle.

“Yes, Ma,” the boy answered wearily.

As they started off, Eleanor paused. “Your son’s a fine young man.”

The woman snorted again. “Too fine, if you ask me. Next he’ll be wanting to go live in the castle.”

“He’d be welcome,” Eleanor assured her.

“Well,” the woman answered, stiff again. “Well, when he’s grown. But I’m glad to hear he was no trouble to you.”

“None at all.” Eleanor rode after her brothers.

The church — such as it was — stood at the very center of the loosely-planned village. It was made of stone, only a little taller than the huts, with a slate roof and two hide-covered windows. At the rear it adjoined another little hut, where the priest probably lived. The only other building of its size was right next door — a tavern.

“Armus,” Richard asked leadingly, “how many of us does it take to interview a priest?”

“Priests make me nervous,” Cedric contributed quickly.

“They ought to,” Eleanor snapped back.

Armus sighed. “See to the horses, and order some dinner. I’ll be along directly.”

Richard nodded. “That’s why you’re my favorite brother.”

***

Armus ducked through the door of the village church. The inside was smaller than the family chapel at Covington. The walls had been plastered, a long time ago, but the floor was of packed dirt and cold even on this mild day. The dim light that came through the window coverings was supplemented by six candles, which filled the air with gentle smoke. But the altar, while simple, was polished to a deep shine.

To the left of the altar was a door, which Armus guessed led to the priest’s house. He moved across the little church, pausing to genuflect to the crucifix over the altar. And then, quite without intention, he dropped to both knees on the dirt floor, bowed his head, and began silently to pray.

A minute passed, or two or three, and the knight became aware that someone was beside him. He looked up at the priest, an old, gnarled, bent, kindly-looking man. “No hurry, my son,” the priest said gently. “Finish your prayer.”

Armus rocked to his feet. “I don’t know what else to pray for.”

“Peace of mind?”

“If I get what I prayed for, I’ll have my peace of mind.”

The priest nodded, patting his arm. “You’ve come about the dragon.”

“Yes. I mean, no, there’s no such thing as dragons. But whatever is causing the trouble.”

“What’s causing the trouble, as usual, is the people.” The priest sighed. “Nothing more fearful in the world than a superstitious crowd.”

Armus nodded solemnly. “Your letter was very brief. I was hoping you could tell me more about the area, the people — the dragon.”

“Of course, good sir. Come, sit down.” He led the tall man to a bench against the wall, and they sat down together. “It began some ten days ago, when Pete came down and said that his sow was missing. He lets her roam the woods, most times, but she’s very pregnant and he had her penned. The fence was all smashed down, and the sow was gone.”

Armus nodded. “And then?”

“Then more livestock, every two or three days. Some sheep, a cow — and then this last time, five more sheep gone and one left slaughtered. And the footprint in the field.”

“You’ve seen the footprint?”

The priest nodded. “The whole village went to see it. It has a big center circle, and three toes. The grass is absolutely flat there. As if come great weight had landed there.”

“But you don’t believe it’s a dragon?”

The priest hesitated. “God sends many plagues upon his children. But there is no greater plague than the children unto each other.”

Armus sat back again the rough wall and considered. “How many farmers have lost livestock?”

“Only Pete.”

The knight frowned. “All this livestock, from a single farmer? He must be nearly destitute.”

“No, I wouldn’t think so,” the priest answered. “Pete had more than anyone in the village. He never shared a thing with anyone, only keeps and hoards all that he has. God forgive me, I am too harsh. It’s only . . . the way he’s treated his daughter, it’s shameful.”

“His daughter?” Armus asked carefully.

“Aye. Pete’s wife died, near to two years ago, God rest her. He has a daughter, Lydia. She looks after him, keeps the house, cooks for him. And so he will not stand to see her married. She had a suitor, a likely enough young man, but Pete would give her no dowry, though he has plenty to spare. And when the young man tried to elope with her, Pete chased him off with a pitch fork and he hasn’t been seen since.”

Armus nodded his understanding. “Is it possible that this young man has been stealing the livestock for revenge?”

The priest considered. “Well, now, I don’t know. He’s been gone so long, I hadn’t thought of him. Jonah was always an honest young man, a hard worker. He was an apprentice to the blacksmith, until Pete ran him off. I don’t know. I’ll tell you this, though — if it is him, no one in the village would blame him.”

“No one but Pete.”

“Aye. No one but Pete.”

Armus stood up. “We’ll talk to Pete in the morning, and see what more we can find out. Thank you for your help.”

The priest also stood. “I would offer you the shelter of my home, good sir . . . “

Armus shook his head. “I thank you, Father. But my brothers and my sister are waiting dinner for me in the tavern.”

“Your sister, you say? Then she must have my bed . . . “

“No,” Armus answered quickly. The idea that this gentle old man would sleep on the floor, so that Eleanor might be warm in his bed, was appalling to him — though he also knew that it was no more than was expected when nobles came to visit. “In truth, I need her to keep an eye on the brothers.”

“But, sir . . . “

Armus shook his head firmly. “I will not hear of it. I thank you for your help. Good night, Father.”

Leaving the bewildered priest behind, he went out quickly into the night.

***

The tavern was exactly like every other tavern in the country — a long bar, rough tables, smoky air, the smell of cooking meat and stale ale. It was crowded, this early in the evening; the farmers had nothing more pressing to do in the winter than to gather and drink.

The noisy crowd fell absolutely silent when the three Greys walked in. The innkeeper came to his senses quickly, and shooed the locals off one end of the table, offering them a place to sit without speaking. They sat. “Ale,” Richard ordered, “and dinner for four.”

“Right away, sir,” the innkeeper answered, and scampered off.

The crowd, mostly men, settled at the other end of the room, trying to ignore them, and slowly the conversation resumed.

“Think they know who we are?” Cedric asked under his breath.

“I feel like I’m on display,” Eleanor answered.

“Well, if you weren’t showing quite so much of your leg,” Richard pointed out, “they might . . . “

“Good evening, good sirs, good lady,” a man said boisterously. “My name is Lucas. Have you come to slay the dragon?”

Richard nodded. “We have,” he answered genially.

“Well, good, then. And not a moment too soon. These people live in terror of the beast. Stealing livestock, killing sheep. Next it will move on to the children, mark my words. Steal them right off the streets and fly away with them.”

Cedric laughed out loud. “And then what would it do with them?”

“Why, eat them, of course,” Lucas answered gravely. “It’s well known that once dragons grow accustomed to being near men, they lose their fear, and then develop a taste for their young. Well known. Children, and, of course, maidens.”

Richard and Cedric both glanced at Eleanor. Richard refrained from comment; Cedric might not have, if he hadn’t felt his sister’s warning foot against his shin bone under the table.

“You seem to know a great deal about dragons,” Eleanor observed coolly.

“Oh, I do,” Lucas answered. He plopped himself down on the bench next to her. Across the room, the farmers chuckled nervously. “I am not from these parts, you see. I am a traveler, an adventurer, and I have seen many things.”

Cedric barely suppressed his grin. “So you’ve seen dragons, have you?”

“Oh, yes,” the man bragged. “Several. And I’ve made rather a study of them, you see. I know what will work against them, what charms will keep you safe . . . as it happens, I have a little collection with me.” He opened his coat and drew out a little parcel, filled with tiny leather bags. “Now, perhaps before you good gentlemen go out to face the beast tomorrow . . . “

“We have good swords and good arms,” Richard answered, amused. “We have no need of your charms.”

“Oh.” Lucas hesitated for barely a breath. “Well, but surely, sir, a little added protection can be of no harm . . . “

“That’s what we brought him for,” Cedric said, gesturing.

Lucas looked over his shoulder. Armus stood there, eclipsing the light of the lamp, towering over the seated peddler in a rather menacing way. “I . . . I . . . uh . . . “

“If you will excuse us,” Armus said in a quiet rumble, “I believe our dinner is here.”

“Oh . . . of course, sir, of course.” Lucas scrambled to his feet. “But after your meal, if you should want to reconsider, I am at your service . . . “ he backed away with an awkward bow.

Armus sat down. The dinner arrived, venison and potatoes and carrots, and ale. “What did the priest have to say?” Richard asked.

His older brother took a bite, chewed, swallowed. Glanced at the crowd, which was now recovering from its quiet. “Later,” he answered.

Tired from the day on the road, and hungry, the children of Thomas Grey fell silently to the work of eating.

***

The afternoon passed into evening. Elizabeth lay quietly in the big bed, her head cradled on Thomas’ shoulder. It was pleasant, she mused, so very pleasant, to be here without the subtle fear of one or more of the children interrupting their interlude. The servants would talk, of course. Servants always did. But what went on while the Grey offspring were gone, said offspring could not interfere with.

She sighed with contentment and stretched, and realized that Thomas was awake beside her. He looked thoughtful, a little troubled. “What are you thinking about?” she asked without preamble.

“Lady Margaret Devlin,” he answered, just as straightforwardly.

Elizabeth frowned deeply. Another woman, while they . . . “Ah. Armus’ betrothed.”

“Yes.”

She settled back in his arms. “What’s the trouble?”

Thomas sighed. “They’ve been writing to each other.”

“She writes?”

“She has a very nice hand.” Thomas shrugged. “It is two days, from here to White Cliff. Armus writes to her, and in four days, or five, he has his reply.”

“Good Lord,” Elizabeth answered. “They must be wearing the road smooth.”

Thomas nodded grimly. “I had no idea they were corresponding so regularly. And under the circumstances, I can hardly forbid it.”

“Well . . . no,” Elizabeth agreed. “They are betrothed, and separated. It seems a small enough thing.” She shifted to look at him again. “So what troubles you, Thomas?”

“She stopped writing.”

“What?”

“Armus has had no word from her in nearly three weeks.”

“He must be frantic.”

Thomas nodded. “He is. Well, for Armus he is. He’s been brooding more than usual, and before he left he was all but silent. He wants to go there, to find out what’s gone wrong.”

“Perhaps he should.”

“Perhaps.” Thomas frowned, and then, unable to help himself, planted a sweet, slow kiss on his lady love’s mouth. “But I fear what he might find there.”

“Do you think she has a lover?”

“I wouldn’t think so. She genuinely seems to love Armus — God knows he loves her. I think rather that perhaps she’s ill, or . . . I don’t know. It’s not like her. I just . . . I don’t know.”

Elizabeth considered the problem for some minutes. It was not easy, with the distraction of her lover’s fingers feathering lightly down her back. “Sir Harold has been your friend for some time.”

“Years and years,” Thomas agreed. His son’s upcoming marriage to Harold’s youngest daughter would cement that friendship into a family bond.

“Then write to him,” Elizabeth offered. “Tell him that Armus is very concerned, and ask his leave for your son to visit.”

Thomas shrugged. “He may take that as a sign that we suspect some . . . treachery, or . . . “

“No,” Elizabeth insisted. “Write to him out of your friendship. Make it clear that you have no concerns, but that you cannot reassure your son. Beg impetuous youth, romantic longings. I’ll help you, if you like.”

“Would you?”

“Of course, Thomas. And if you send your letter tonight, you may have a reply before Armus returns.”

“Yes,” Thomas answered slowly. “And then I can either send him or reassure him . . . “ He leaned to kiss her yet again, this time with amorous intent.

Elizabeth chuckled in his arms. “This will not get your letter written, Thomas.”

“Hmm,” he answered, nuzzling her ear. “I’m just summoning the proper mood,” he murmured. “Romantic longing. Wasn’t that what you said?”

“Impetuous youth,” she answered, and embraced his demonstration thereof.

***

“We should have stayed at the priest’s house,” Cedric grumbled, smoothing his bedroll on the stony hilltop.

“You think his floor would have been any softer?” Richard asked.

“It would be warmer, at least,” Eleanor pointed out.

“If you’re cold,” her brother answered, stirring the sizable fire at the center of their little encampment, “go fetch some more wood.”

Eleanor cast a dubious glance down the hill toward the dark forest. “I’m not that cold.”

“I’ll go,” Armus announced quietly, and trudged off into the darkness.

Watching him go, Richard sighed and shook his head. “What?” Eleanor asked.

“I’m worried about him,” Richard admitted. He shrugged. “Not that it will do any good. He just takes everything so seriously.”

“He loves her,” Eleanor answered.

“I know. I just wonder . . . “ Richard broke off his answer, hearing something on the hillside. It sounded like the rustle of trees, but loud. Snapping limbs, creaking branches, something large and heavy moving through the darkness toward them. Richard drew his sword. Cedric did the same; Eleanor reached for her crossbow.

Armus came into the firelight, dragging a branch behind him as big around as his thigh. He noticed their armed state. “What?”

“Nothing,” Richard said with a laugh, sheathing his sword.

“I thought the whole bloody forest was attacking us!” Cedric blurted.

Armus shrugged. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You didn’t scare us,” Eleanor protested. “We were just a little . . . alarmed. That’s all.”

“Alarmed. Of course.”

“We were,” she insisted.  
.   
Armus drew his own sword and began to hack the branch into smaller pieces. “This should hold us the night.”

“It should hold us the week,” Richard retorted. “All right, what did the priest say?”

Armus told them, while he worked. When he finished the cutting, he stacked the wood neatly.

“You think it’s the boy?” Richard asked, when he’d finished the story.

“I do,” Armus answered. “But I need to talk to them, to be sure.”

“Do you think the girl knows?”

“Perhaps.”

“Lot of work to go to, for a girl,” Cedric offered.

“Maybe he loves her,” Eleanor countered.

“Even so. Who’d want this old skinflint Pete for a father-in-law?”

They chatted on for a bit, turning over this idea and that, and finally deciding that they couldn’t decide anything until they’d seen the footprint and the farmer. Armus remained silent. After a time the conversation dropped away. They all sat quietly around the fire for a bit, almost too tired to move to their bedrolls.

“What’s it like, Armus?” Richard said in the quiet.

“What?”

“To be in love.”

“You’ve been in love.”

Richard shook his head. “Not like this. Not like you are.”

Armus considered for a moment. For once, his younger brother wasn’t mocking or teasing. He genuinely wanted to know. “I . . . I feel her with me, always,” he finally said, tentatively. “I hear her voice sometimes.” He shrugged, embarrassed. “She is my life that will be.”

“How can you stand to be away from her, then?” Cedric asked.

His older brother shrugged. “I have to, so I do. It wasn’t so bad, when I had her letters every week.”

“I’m sure she’s all right,” Eleanor offered quietly.

Richard nodded his agreement. “They would have sent word, if something was wrong.”

“I know,” Armus said. But his tone was so tortured that they knew he knew no such thing.

“I hope . . . “ Eleanor began. She broke off, embarrassed too, but then went on. “I hope some day someone will love me like that.”

“I think it would scare me to death,” Cedric admitted, without sarcasm.

Armus nodded. “It scares me, little brother. And the next minute it fills me with joy.”

“You know,” Richard said, sitting back, “we may never have another trip like this, just us. In the spring Armus will be married, and then there’ll be kids . . . what does Meg call them?”

“Grandbrats,” Eleanor supplied.

“Grandbrats, and before you know it we’ll be hauling them along, and it just won’t be the same.”

“Grandbrats,” Armus repeated softly.

Cedric chuckled. “And then Richard will be getting married and having kids, and then Eleanor . . . “

“And then Cedric will be off to the clergy,” Richard shot back.

The tender moment had passed.

“Get some sleep,” Armus said, rather an order. “I’ll keep watch for a time.”

They didn’t usually take orders well, but this time his younger siblings gave him no argument. They huddled into their bedrolls and were very shortly asleep.

Armus sat alone, motionless, and stared into the fire. Now and then he stood and added branches, stirred the fire, walked around the little camp, but mostly he sat and stared and wished the night would pass.

Armus Grey was coming to hate the night.

In daylight, it was easy to be reasonable. It was easy to believe that there was no word from Meg because a bridge was out, or a snowstorm had hit, or any of a hundred other logical and sensible reasons. But in the darkness, and when he was alone, Armus believed other things.

  
He believed that she had a lover and was afraid to tell him. This was the easiest to bear, because at least he could imagine her happy. Oh, it would kill him, no question, but at least she would be happy. And he could hardly blame Meg, if it were true. Armus had opened her heart to love, had taught her to kiss and to be kissed — had, in short, brought her young emotions and body to a low simmer — and then left her. If she’d met someone who brought that simmering to a full boil, he could only blame himself. At least she’d be happy.

But he didn’t really believe she had a lover. He believed that she was sick, very sick, and her father was waiting for her death to inform her betrothed. He believed that she had been injured somehow. Disfigured by burns. Mangled under horses’ hooves. Cut with a sword . . .

He believed that she had been attacked by one of the many soldiers who came through White Cliff on their way to and from the Crusades. He believed that she had been carried off by the sailors who frequented the port. He believed . . .

But in the barest dark, in the hour before the sun began to rise, he believed that his beloved was dead.

He had spoken the truth when he told his brother that he could feel Meg with him. He had been able to from the moment he left her, as if some fine silver thread bound their hearts together even over so much distance. He could look east and feel her love. But not now.

Now he looked east and felt nothing. She was gone. Whatever had happened to Lady Margaret Devlin, she was no longer at White Cliff.

Armus closed his eyes and hung his head. He turned his heart to the east. Nothing. Again, as there had been nothing for weeks. She was not there. She was not there.

He had been opposed to the marriage his father had arranged for him with Harold Devlin’s youngest daughter — until the moment he met her. And then his whole will had turned to winning her heart. And he had done it, impossibly, he had won her love, and they need only wait until her uncle the Bishop returned from Rome to perform the marriage, just after Easter . . . only one season, one winter, and then she would be with him, his lover, his soul mate, his perfect partner — his best friend. But now she was gone.

Silent tears slid down the knight’s face.

And then, impossibly, unexpectedly, he felt her. Not to the east, but to the north, and very far away, and maybe it was only his imagination . . . no. It was her. It was her!

He opened his eyes and lifted his face to the clear black sky. The stars flickered in the light wind, a little dance for his amusement, as if saying, ‘Meg has sent us to keep you company.’

A shadow, of an enormous winged creature, crossed the stars and was gone.

Armus wiped his eyes and stared harder at the skies. Surely he had imagined that last. There was no sound, no further shadow. He could not have seen a dragon.

He closed his eyes again, reaching, aching for his connection with Meg. It was gone.

But the stars still twinkled lightly, and Armus felt his heart lift for the first time in weeks.   
  
***

It wasn’t hard to find Farmer Pete’s house; as the innkeeper had told them, it was just down the road two hills. The Greys had left their horses tethered in the field and walked the short distance. The building was just like all the others in the village, stone and grass, but roughly twice the size of young Tom’s house. Behind it, there was a lower building that obviously served as a barn.

Two large dogs, dirty yellow, raced from the barn, barking furiously as they approached. The dogs stopped just out of kicking distance and continued to bark until Pete himself came out of the house. “Hey, there,” he yelled. “Shut up, you dumb mutts!”

He was pulling his coat on as he came. When he saw the gathering of nobles heading for his house, he scowled fiercely. “Bout time you got here,” he barked.

The Greys swapped looks among themselves. “I am Sir Armus Grey,” Armus announced, emphasizing the ‘sir’ in a way his siblings had never heard before. “We understand that something is stealing your livestock.”

“Aye.” The farmer looked him up and down. “So you don’t believe in dragons, then, Sir Armus?”

Armus considered. “Where was the sow penned?” he asked.

The farmer stood staring at him for a moment more, then scowled and pointed. “There, behind the barn. I’ll show you.”

He led them around the low building. In a rickety pen, two heavy sows snuffled expectantly, looking for their breakfast. At the far end of the pen, boards had been broken and mended. “It took her right out of here,” Pete said. “Broke down the fence there and took her.”

“But left the other sows?” Armus asked.

“Well you can see it left the others, now can’t you?”

“I will thank you not to take that tone with my brother,” Richard said sharply. “We are here as the personal envoys of your Lord and Master, and we will be treated accordingly.”

Armus glanced at his brother, but made no attempt to temper his speech. He didn’t much like the farmer, either.

Pete stared, and sputtered, and swallowed whatever retort he’d been considering. “Well,” he muttered, “anyone can see it left the others,” he replied.

“What about the cow?”

“She was in the barn,” Pete said.  
  
“The dragon went into the barn?” Eleanor asked in surprise.

“More like it witched her out,” Pete answered. “Least, that’s what Lucas says. He’s mighty learned about dragon ways.”

“Yes, we’ve met him,” Richard answered dryly.

Armus had wandered to the far side of the pig pen and bent to examine the broken fence. It had not frosted hard during the night, and the ground was soft under his boots. “What about the sheep?” he asked.

The farmer waved. “They winter in the woods, back there. That’s where I found the dead one.”

“Can you show us?”

“I haven’t had my breakfast yet,” Pete protested.

“Oh, good,” Cedric said cheerfully, “neither have we.”

“I’m starving,” Richard added.

Armus shrugged. “I could eat.”

“I . . . but . . . I, er . . . “

“It’s cold out here,” Eleanor contributed. “Let’s go in.”

Sighing heavily, Pete led them back around the house and in the front door. “Lydia,” he called, “we have extra mouths for breakfast.”

The inside of the house was a good deal warmer and more pleasant than the outside suggested. The floor was made of planks, and covered with heavy, if faded, rugs. Good sturdy furniture was cushioned with bright pillows. There were two doors off the main room, probably separate bedrooms. And the whole house smelled wonderfully of bacon.

Richard spotted her first, and strode across the room to her side. “You must be Lydia,” he purred. “I’m Richard.” He bowed, sweeping her slender, if somewhat coarse, fingers to his lips.

She snatched her hand back. “Richard?” she asked, confusion in her blue eyes.

“Richard Grey.”

“Oh.” Her tone changed, turned brisk. “You’re here about the dragon.”

“Or anything else that troubles such a fair young maiden.”

His younger brother was, of course, at his heels. He also kissed the peasant girl’s hand. “I’m Cedric. I am so very pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Lydia looked him up and down, again drawing her hand back. “Aren’t you kind of young to be a knight?”

“Oh, I like her,” Eleanor said under her breath.

Armus heard her and chuckled. “I hope we’re not imposing,” he said to the girl. “Your father said that you’d make breakfast for us.”

The peasant girl did a quick head count, then went to the larder at the back of the kitchen. She came back with a fat rasher of bacon. “Well, it’s the least we can do, isn’t it?”

“I’d be glad to help you,” Cedric offered. “Anything at all. I’m very handy in the kitchen.”

“You’ll keep your hands to yourself in my kitchen,” Pete snapped.

Richard started to retort, but Armus quieted him with a gesture. “Cedric meant no harm. He’s simply trying to be helpful.”

“Aye, and I know what he’d like to help himself to,” Pete muttered. Still grumbling, he went back outside.

Lydia eyed the tallest of the Grey children a shade nervously. “Please . . . sir . . . forgive my father. He’s very . . . protective.”

“As he should be, of a beauty such as you,” Richard inserted quickly.

She glanced at him, then looked away, completely unswayed by his considerable charm. “You won’t hold it against him, will you?” she beseeched Armus.

Armus shook his head. “Of course not.” Lydia set out a loaf of dark bread, and without comment Armus went and began to slice it. “What do you think about this dragon talk?”

The girl shrugged uneasily. “I think it’s just talk.”

“Then what’s happening to the livestock?” Eleanor asked.

Lydia shrugged again. “Wandered off, I guess.”

“And the dead sheep?”

“Mauled by dogs.”

Armus nodded, more to himself than to her. “Your father’s a widower?”

“My mother died two years ago.” Lydia looked sharply at him, wondering where he’d gotten this information. “What does that matter?”

“Oh, it doesn’t.” Armus was still slicing the bread calmly. “Only, looking at this house,” he waved his dagger casually around the room, “it’s clear that you’re a very accomplished housekeeper.”

“I get by.”

“It’ll be hard for him, when you marry and he’s on his own.”

The girl’s face flushed deeply. “If my father has his way,” she answered angrily, “I will never marry.”

“Now that would be a great shame,” Cedric said.

“A very great shame,” Richard agreed.

She glanced at both of them, balefully. Armus nodded again to himself. “Do you have any butter?”

***

After the breakfast — which was delicious and plentiful, though Pete groused about it — the Greys followed the farmer out over the hill to where the footprint was.

Even after so many days, the grass lay flat inside the print, and the dirt held its indent. It was as Tom had described it, a large flat circle with three toe-like protrusions. “Big, isn’t it?” Cedric observed quietly.

“But only one,” Armus answered slowly. He walked twenty or so yards in the direction the toes pointed, but could not see another print anywhere. He hadn’t expected one.

“Well, then it flies away,” Pete said.

“Perhaps.” Armus walked back slowly, studying the ground and the grass. “Tell me about the dead sheep.”

The farmer sighed. “Dead sheep. Whether, it was. Torn to shreds.”

”Eaten?”

“No. Didn’t look like none was eaten.”

“Interesting.”

“You think this creature kills for sport?” Eleanor asked, a trace of worry in her voice.

“Of a sort,” her oldest brother answered slowly. “Of a sort.” He noted that Lydia had followed them and was waiting at the top of the hill, watching them and listening. “Well, there’s nothing more to see here. Time we headed out to find this beast’s lair.”

“What, in there?” Cedric protested, pointing toward the woods.

“No, I don’t think so. A beast this size,” Armus nodded toward the footprint, “would need a cave of some kind. And since it only takes stock from good farmer Pete, it stands to reason that his is the closest farm to its lair. I’m thinking, if we head over those hills there, we stand a good chance of finding the beast.”

“It’s dangerous back there,” Lydia called down to them. “All sorts of caves and crevices, you might fall or get stuck . . . “

“We’ll be careful,” Armus answered.

“I don’t think you should go there,” she insisted.

“You keep your mouth shut, girl,” Pete snarled. “If that’s where the thieving dragon is, that’s where they need to go to catch it.”

“It’s not safe!”

“They’re grown men with swords. What’s the point of having them if they only go to the safe places?”

Red-faced again, Lydia turned and strode back to the house.

Eleanor watched Armus’ face as the girl left. “What are you up to?” she wondered aloud.

Armus smiled innocently. “Me?”

“You.”

“Let’s get the horses.”

***

“Armus,” Cedric said, as the sun set, “you do have some kind of plan, didn’t you?”

“Of course I do,” Armus answered mildly.

“Oh.”

The four of there were sitting on a big rock in the woods, just behind Farmer Pete’s house. Waiting.

Eleanor drew her cloak closer around her. “I hope she comes soon.”

“Who?” Cedric asked.

“Lydia.”

“We’re waiting for Lydia?”

Eleanor smirked. “Weren’t you paying attention?”

“I was paying attention,” Cedric protested. “I was paying very close attention.”

“To her words, not her body,” Richard chided.

“Oh, like you didn’t notice her body,” Cedric answered hotly.

“Shhh!” Armus ordered. The siblings fell to silence.

As the sun finished its descent, Pete came out of the house and headed down the road to the tavern. Not two minutes behind him, Lydia came out, gathering her black cloak around her, and walked quickly to the woods. She passed within ten yards of the Greys, headed down a narrow path at a half-trot.

When she was out of sight, Armus slid to his feet and followed. The others did the same, as quietly as possible.

It took nearly half an hour for the peasant girl to reach her destination. By then the forest was dead dark, but the path was smooth and well-worn, and her pursuers had no trouble keeping up. In a clearing, by a small pond, the lingering twilight showed a small, sparkling new cabin.

Behind it, in neat pens, were a pregnant sow, a cow, and ten sheep.

Armus stopped at the edge of the wood and watched, with Eleanor and his brothers crowded against him.

Lydia hurried across the clearing toward the house. “Jonah!” she called as she went.

The door opened and a tall young man came out and swept her into his arms. “Lydia!”

“Who’s that?” Cedric demanded.

Armus sighed. “That’s our dragon.” He waited another minute, gave the lovers time for their greeting kiss. Then, with his hand on his sword hilt, he stepped into the clearing.

***

The girl began to cry at once. Jonah stood tall and remained quiet, one protective arm around his lover. “So. You’ve found us out.”

“We have,” Richard agreed. “You’re a thief.”

“He only stole what should have been mine!” Lydia cried. “My father forbid us to marry . . . “

“Shhh,” Armus soothed. “Stop crying. We’ll find a way to settle this.”

“By hanging me, I suppose,” Jonah said stoically.

“Well, if need be,” Armus answered. “But I had something a little less extreme in mind.”

“You did?” Richard asked aside.

“I think so.”

Jonah considered. “It’s cold. Come inside.”

The cabin was small, but evidence of Lydia’s handiwork was everywhere, in small rugs and pillows and comfortable touches. “Nice,” Eleanor commented.

“We’ve worked very hard,” Jonah said. “We planned to be married and settle here. The pond has a spring at the end, so it never freezes, and there’s plenty of wood.”

“But you had to steal the livestock,” Richard said.

The young man shrugged. “I had no money, and Pete would give no dowry. For myself, I would not have minded — but I would not see Lydia live in poverty.”

“So you stole from her father.”

Jonah stared at the young knight. “I will take whatever punishment is just. But leave Lydia out of it. She had no part in the thefts.”

“No,” Lydia protested. “I go where you go.”

“He goes to the gallows,” Cedric predicted.

“How did you make the footprint?” Armus asked.

“I didn’t,” Jonah answered. “I don’t know anything about that.”

“And you didn’t kill the sheep, did you?”

“No, sir.”

Richard laughed out loud. “You expect us to believe that? You’re an admitted thief.”

“We’re not complete fools,” Cedric continued. “You stole the sheep, but you didn’t leave the footprint?”

“I swear it,” Jonah said earnestly, turning again to Armus. “I took what should have been Lydia’s dowry, but nothing more. I swear it.”

“I believe you,” Armus answered mildly.

“You do?” Cedric demanded.

“Then who made the footprint?” Richard asked.

“And who butchered the sheep?” Eleanor added.

Armus shrugged. “Someone who profits from fear.“

The three of them thought about this, and came to no conclusion. “We’ll deal with that later,” Armus continued. “For the moment, the question is, what shall we do with these two?”

“Please, sir, leave Lydia out of this . . . “

“Outside?” Richard suggested.

Armus nodded, and the Greys went out into the tidy clearing, leaving the lovers nervously alone.

“The law is very clear on this,” Richard said.

“Yes, it is,” Armus agreed. “Thieves are to be hung.”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to see him hang?”

“I don’t,” Eleanor said quickly. “He only took what should have been his.”

“What should have been his, but wasn’t his,” Richard pointed out. “It’s still theft, from one of our retainers. Our duty is clear.”

Armus nodded solemnly. “Do you want to see him hang?” he repeated.

“Well . . . no. But I don’t see any choice.”

“What if he gives the livestock back?” Cedric offered.

“He won’t do that,” Eleanor predicted.

“But what if he did? What if we told him . . . he didn’t have to hang if he just . . . gave it back?”

“There’s still the dead sheep to consider,” Richard reminded him.

“Jonah didn’t kill that sheep,” Armus said with certainty.

“Then who did?”

Armus ignored that question. “If we persuade him to give the animals back, then what? Pete still won’t give Lydia’s dowry.”

“They could elope,” Eleanor suggested.

“We could take them home with us,” Cedric offered. “Put them to work at the castle.”

“He’s a thief,” Richard reminded him.

“Well . . . maybe it was just a one-time thing,”

Richard sighed. “Armus?”

“What we need to consider,” Armus answered slowly, “is what’s in the best interest of our property. This is Father’s land, after all. And technically, his livestock. So what most benefits Father -- and us?”

Eleanor was staring at him, aghast. “Armus, I’ve never heard you talk that way.”

“I’m not done yet.” Armus straightened. “Is it better for Father — for us — to have this resourceful young man hanged, and for Lydia to live out her days alone, keeping house for her father? Or would it be better to have this young couple married and settled, raising still more livestock and a pack of intensely loyal children?”

“Ah,” Eleanor said, approvingly.

Richard sighed. “You’re going to explain this to Father, right?”

Armus nodded.

“So,” Cedric asked cheerfully, “how do we make it happen?”

Armus shrugged. “We lie.”

***

In the morning, the four of them trooped to Pete’s house again. The dogs barked, then recognized them and went away. Pete came to the door, looking as if he hadn’t slept. “What do you want?”

“Breakfast was so delicious yesterday,” Richard said, “we thought we’d come back today.”

“You can’t have breakfast! I haven’t had breakfast. There’s no one here to cook breakfast. She’s gone!”

“Who’s gone?” Cedric asked innocently.

“Lydia’s gone, you fool!” the farmer snapped. “Gone, I tell you! I came home from the tavern and she was gone!”

“The dragon took her,” Armus said gravely.

“We should start a search at once,” Richard agreed.

“Hey, what about breakfast?” Cedric argued.

“Well, yes,” Armus amended. “We’ll start the search right after breakfast. Maybe the tavern would have breakfast.”

“Are you mad?” Pete screeched. “My daughter is missing! That creature has taken her, God only knows where, and what he wants with her . . . “

“She’s probably his breakfast,” Eleanor offered casually.

“Or else . . . that other thing,” Cedric agreed.

“Other thing? What other thing?”

“Well . . . “ Richard answered carefully, “there’s a reason they prefer maidens, if you take my meaning.”

They left the farmer sputtering at his door and strolled back to the tavern.

***

The tavern was quiet and empty, except for Lucas. “Ah,” he said when they came in, “you’ve come back for a charm, have you?”

“Get away,” Richard snapped.

“No,” Armus said. “I’ll have one of your charms.”

“You will! I mean, of course, sir, an excellent precaution.” He drew a tiny leather bag, crudely made, from his pocket. Armus traded him a coin. The peddler looked at it, considered asking for more, then thought better of it. He pocketed the coin. “And the rest of you? Who else needs a charm?”

“That’ll do,” Armus answered, in a tone of absolute dismissal.

“You’re sure? No one else? Dangerous work, this dragon hunting, you can’t be too prepared . . . “

“That’s all,” Armus repeated dangerously.

The man scurried away.

***

After a leisurely breakfast, the Greys went and saddled their horses. By then everyone in the little village knew that the dragon had stolen Pete’s daughter, and they gathered in little crowds along the dirt street to watch the hunters, proud and tall on their mounts, ride out. They led the black pony with them.

“This is ridiculous,” Cedric uttered under his breath.

“Shut up and keep riding,” Richard whispered back. They rode.

Once out of sight, they relaxed a bit. They took the road as far as they could, then cut onto the forest trail up to Jonah’s clearing. There they tethered the horses, lounged about for a bit, and enjoyed Lydia’s delicious lunch. A bit more lounging around, and they set to work.

First, clothes had to be torn a bit, covered with dust. The horses were dusted up as well. Eleanor helped Lydia work grass and leaves into her tousled hair, and smeared her face with dirt. “A little blood might help,” Richard said, observing the group.

Without another word, Jonah took a kitchen knife and made a minor cut on his upper arm. It soaked into his shirt in a satisfactory pool before they bound it up.

Lydia began to cry softly, clinging to her beau. “What if it doesn’t work, Jonah?”

“It will work,” he answered encouragingly. He looked over her head at the Greys. “It will work.”

“Let’s go,” Richard said.

***

As they had planned, they rode back into the village just at sunset. The hunters looked weary and battered, but victorious. On the black pony, the as-yet unknown hero rode with his lady in his arms. They rode to the front of the tavern and dismounted.

Pete burst through the crowd, screeching. “You get your hands off her! I told you before, you . . . you . . . “

“Gently,” Armus said. “You owe this young man your daughter’s life.”

“Him?” the farmer spluttered. “You’re joking.”

“We rarely joke,” Richard replied calmly. “Jonah slew the dragon.”

“He did?” Pete said in amazement. “Him?”

“Him,” Cedric confirmed. “The dragon had us down, we’d all be toast if Jonah hadn’t come along.”

“And he was saving your daughter for dessert,” Eleanor added. “He’s a hero.”

“Him? Him?”

Lucas pushed forward. “You say . . . you say you killed the dragon? You really saw the beast?”

“Of course,” Armus answered. “You sound surprised.”

“Well, I . . . I . . . it’s a difficult thing, to kill a dragon, I just . . . you brought back proof, of course.”

“Proof?” Richard asked. “You doubt our word?”

“Well, I . . . I . . . “

“We brought back the livestock,” Eleanor said. “The animals are back in Pete’s pens.”

“But the dragon . . . “

“Vanished,” Armus said. “The minute it died, it turned into faerie dust and blew away.”

“Every last bit of it,” Richard added.

“But . . . but . . . “

“Oh, yes, and as for your charm,” Arms continued, drawing the little leather bag out and opening it, “I don’t think sand has any effect on dragons.” He poured the substance into his hand, then let it fall to the ground.

“I . . . I . . . “

“You made the footprint. You slaughtered the sheep.“

“It was the dragon!” Lucas protested. “It wasn’t me, how could I . . . why would I . . . “

“How much money did you make on your charms?” Cedric demanded.

“Enough to get you out of the county, I hope,” Richard added. “Because if sunrise finds you on our father’s lands, you will not have enough charms to save your skin.”

“I . . . I . . . “

“Go now,” Eleanor advised.

Lucas went. Quickly.

Pete was still sputtering. “He . . . she . . . “

“Pete,” Armus said firmly. “Jonah saved your daughter’s life. He has proven himself worthy of her hand. I think it best that they be married at once.”

“You think it best? Who are you to tell me . . . “

Armus leveled a withering gaze at him, reminding the peasant farmer exactly who he was. “I think it best,” the knight repeated slowly, “that they be married at once.”

“I . . . I . . . “

“A wedding!” the innkeeper shouted. “A wedding and a celebration of the end of the dragon!”

A general cheer went up from the crowd, drowning out whatever protests Pete might have made.

“And you will,” Armus went on quietly, “give your daughter a suitable dowry. I would suggest that all the recovered livestock might be in order.”

“But . . . but . . . “

“Sounds fair to me,” Richard added. “Of course, if you don’t give it to her, we’ll probably have to come back. And it’s a long ride. We wouldn’t be in a good mood when we got here.”

“We’d be in a very bad mood,” Cedric stated.

“You do understand that, don’t you?”

“I . . . I . . . “

In the end, Pete simply gave up.

They went into the tavern to celebrate.

***

They were within a stone’s throw of Covington Cross when the gates opened and Lady Elizabeth, with her escort, rode out.

“She’s been here the whole time we were gone!” Eleanor seethed.

“Of course she has,” Richard answered, amused. “Why do you think Father let us all go?”

“That . . . that . . . uuuuuugh!”

The boys just laughed at her outrage. “Be polite,” Armus urged as the two parties grew nearer.

“I’ll tear her eyes out!” Eleanor threatened.

“Great,” Cedric quipped. “A blind stepmother, just what I’ve always wanted.”

“She will never be my stepmother,” Eleanor insisted through gritted teeth.

“Good evening,” Elizabeth greeted them warmly as she approached. “I trust you had a safe journey?”

“Yes, thank you,” Armus replied politely. “I’m sorry we missed your visit.”

“Yes,” Richard pitched in. “It was good of you to keep Father company while we were gone.”

“He missed you,” Elizabeth answered. “Well, I must be off if I’m to be home by dark. I’ll see you again soon, and hear all your adventures.”

They said their good-byes and were on their way, Eleanor muttering under her breath.

“What’s that?” Richard asked. “I’m not quite catching all of that.”

“Probably just as well,” Armus said.

“Scare the hair off the horses,” Cedric chuckled.

Eleanor glared at each of them in turn, then kicked her tired horse into a full gallop the rest of the way to the castle.

***

Armus covered the great hall in long strides, swept down the corridor, and knocked on the door to his father’s study even while he threw the door open. “Father?”

“Armus,” Thomas returned warmly. “How went the hunt?”

“There was a courier from White Cliff.”

A faint, displeased smile flickered across his father’s face. “Hello, Father,” he answered sardonically, “the hunt went well, and we are all returned safely.” His oldest son’s head dropped, and Thomas relented at once. “There was a courier. Your lady is fine.”

Armus looked as if he’d just taken his first breath in weeks. “The message was from her?”

“No.” Thomas reached onto his desk and took up a single sheet of parchment. “From Harold. I wrote to him, the day you left. Meg is not at White Cliff. She has gone to Inverness, to attend her sister’s lying-in.” He held the message out to his son.

“Scotland?” Armus mused in wonder. She was north, just where he’d felt her.

“Yes. She asked her father to send you word, and he put it off. He had no idea that we — that you would be so worried.”

Armus was still trying to catch his breath. “But she’s all right?”

“She’s fine, Armus.”

The knight sighed deeply. “Hello, Father. The hunt went well, and we are all returned safely.”

Thomas smiled again. “You slew the dragon?” he asked skeptically.

“It . . . will not trouble us further,” Armus assured him. “I’ll tell you all about it — over dinner, if it please you.”

“Ah, so you have your appetite back.”

Armus shrugged uneasily. “Forgive me, Father, if I have been . . . “

Thomas reached up to pat his son’s shoulder. “She means a great deal to you, doesn’t she?”

“She is my life, father. Or — my life that will be.”

“I must tell you, son, that if I had my way she’d be here with us now. Or if I had known how she dear she would be,” Thomas said quietly, “I would not have introduced you until the Bishop had returned from Rome. This separation is so difficult for you.”

Armus shook his head. “No,” he said slowly. “It’s difficult, I admit but . . . in some ways it’s probably best. I need this winter, to put things in order, to put my thoughts in order . . .” he smiled wistfully, “to finish my brooding. And for Meg, as well — to be uprooted so suddenly . . . I don’t like it, Father. But I think in the long run it will be for the best.”

Thomas considered his eldest son for a long moment. He was surprised, and impressed, at his maturity. At his age, would Thomas have been so patient? So wise? The moment he’d seen Anne, the day before their wedding . . . he shook his head, impatient with himself. “I suppose I should do some ordering of my own.”

“How so?”

“It has been some years since there was a Lady of Covington Cross. Which is, in practice if not in fact, what Meg will be.”

Armus felt for the first time how difficult that transition would be for Thomas. “Father . . . “

Thomas shook his head quickly. “No, Armus. It’s time. It’s past time. And I cannot imagine anyone I would be more pleased to see in the role. Truly.”

“It’s going to be a long winter,” Armus sighed.

“Yes. Yes, it is.”

Footsteps running, light and sure in the hall, and then Eleanor was skidding to a halt in the doorway, with a letter in her hand. “Armus, it’s . . . Father, forgive the interruption, it’s . . . Armus, it’s . . . “

Her brother crossed the study and snatched the letter out of her hand. The address alone was enough to make his breath catch, written as it was in Meg’s sure, neat hand. The letter felt fat, maybe half a dozen pages, and he could not wait to read it, to savor every one of her words, once and then again and again . . .

“The courier is still here?” he asked eagerly.

“In the kitchen . . . “ she answered, bewildered.

“Good. Father — I will tell you of our hunt at dinner?”

Thomas smiled warmly. “Go on, son.”

Curious, Eleanor followed her brother out, all but running to keep up.

***

The man was small and ruddy-colored, dusty from the road and tired. He’d just sat down to a mug of ale and a full plate at the kitchen table, but he sprang to his feet when the nobles entered the kitchen.

“Sit, please, eat,” Armus said quickly. “You’ve come from Inverness?”

“Aye, sir. They call me Jamie, all but my mother, she calls me James still.”

“Sit, please,” Armus urged again. The man clearly was not about to, until Armus sat down across from him and gestured for his own cup of ale. Eleanor sat down next to him.

“You’d be Sir Armus, I wager. I’ll carry your message back as soon as it’s ready. Though I’ll need to beg a new horse if I’m to go tonight.”

He was clearly exhausted, but just as clearly perfectly willing to go. “No,” Armus assured him. “You’ll stay a day or two, rest, then you can carry a message. I’ll leave you to your dinner, I know you’re tired and hungry. I only wanted to ask — have you seen her?”

“Lady Meg? Oh, aye, I’ve seen her.”

“And how is she?”

The man shrugged. “She’s well. Quiet, that one, serious. The ladies whisper that she is a saint, on account of the girl baby.”

Armus frowned. “The . . . what?”

“Well, you know the Lady Bernadette bore twins, had you heard?” Armus shook his head. Jaime took a long drink of ale, warming to the story. “Tis true. Now the ladies knew, a month ago, there was trouble with the babies, though they thought it was but one babe, and so they sent for her lady mother and of course Lady Meg came, too. And the babies come, two of them, near to eight weeks early. Tiny little things. The boy was born first, and they say he’ll live, for all that he’s small. He has good lungs and can bellow for his supper from one end of the keep to the other. But the girl baby, she’s but a wee tiny thing, no bigger than my two hands.” He held his hands out, palms cupped, to demonstrate. “The midwife said she was blue and silent when she came, and the priest was called in, but Lady Meg, she just took that tiny baby in her two hands and rubbed her back and her feet until she drew breath. And the ladies say she never lets the wee girl out of her hands, except when she’s put to nurse. They say Lady Meg sleeps with the girl in her arms, that she carries her everywhere she goes and holds her on her lap while she eats and such. Now they all said, even the priest, that the babe would not live out that first day — and they say that every morning, and every evening the babe lives. She was ten days, when I left Inverness, and now they think the wee girl might live after all, on account of Lady Meg not being willing to let her go. And so they say she’s a saint. And I am not one to argue with such, sir.”

“Nor I,” Armus answered slowly. “Nor I.” He stood up, drew a silver coin and gave it to the man. “I thank you for your message and for your tale. Rest well.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Armus drifted out of the kitchen, the letter still tightly in his grasp, and his sister at his heels. “Well,” he said quietly.

Eleanor nodded. “You were so sure there were no more dragons.”

Her brother turned to look at her, puzzled. “Dragons?”

“Dragons.” Eleanor shrugged. “They’re still out there. They just wear disguises now. Yours look like swains, and hers look like babies. But they’re still out there. Aren’t they?”  
  
Armus shook his head in amazement. Eleanor, of all people, expressing such a poetic -- and entirely accurate -- sentiment. “You are right, little sister. You are quite right.” On impulse, he bent and hugged her tightly.

The show of affection startled Eleanor -- and pleased her. She’s always felt that Armus was much closer to her brothers than to her. She’d never quite known what to make of him, this brother she barely knew. But somehow, since Lady Margaret had entered the equation, they were much closer, much easier together. And in this instance, at least, she knew exactly what to do. “Go read your letter, brother,” she offered. “ I’ll see that Father’s late for dinner.”

“Thank you,” Armus answered warmly, and went.

  
The End


End file.
